19
by MAI742
Summary: 5th-16th years of Total War.
1. 19

Five years in.

* * *

"Basically?"

Makoto shuffled his feet.

"We're running out of money."

He was serious. "How?"

Makoto brought up a series of graphs and pie charts. "_This_ is how much of the economy we're mobilising for Project E, most of that being production costs for the new units. _This _is how much we need to keep treading water at our irrecoverable casualty rate."

"Irrecoverable... so that's including salvage?"

"An _optimisitic_ level of salvage. We haven't actually been able to re-use that much Eva material since the thirty-seventh."

"Okay. But I thought we were okay for new production?"

"We _were_. But The Committee has deemed the Third Series too expensive."

"_The Third Series is the best thing we've had since Unit Two-_" she hissed

"-They say they're too expensive. They die at an even greater rate."

"That's because the whole _casualty rate_ is up, it's not just the new units-"

"-well, they're not listening. They want to cancel production of the MkIIIs and produce more MkIIs while they wait for the MkIV test-"

"-The Second Series are _totally inadequate_ and you know it. These new Angels..."

He met her eyes. "I know."

After a moment, she looked to his screens.

"So what does it mean."

His reply took a while. "If the casualty rate stays the same, we'll be down to critical strength again before the fourth series gets here."

"What about the Fourth Series test-type?"

"It's got promising stats, but there's the usual problem."

"No spare parts." To her credit, she rallied quickly. "So what can we do?"

He had clearly been waiting for her to ask. "The Committee has seen the economic figures, but not our side of the picture. The mobilisation drive might have made them believe some of the hype, or maybe they just don't appreciate what our figures mean. But I don't think it's that."

He was genuinely proud of himself for the first time in a long while. She found herself grinning too, a little. "Then what?"

"They want you to back their new mobilisation policy. Look." He pointed to the charts.

"This is how much we have right now, and _this_ one here is how much we need to rush either the Mk IIIs through or" he pointed to another "the MkIVs through."

"These two are... smaller? Our funding is less?!-"

"No. The big bit's us."

"As a share of what?"

"World economic activity."

She was no economist. "Isn't that a bit... big?"

"I thought you'd say that."

He tapped a fourth graph. "This is the level of sustainable spending."

It was less than _half_ the current level.

"Sustainable how?"

"Long-term."

"...how long-term?"

"Five years."

He let it sink in.

"And you want... I mean, we _need_ spending to be higher. If we want the Mk IIIs or Mk IVs."

"Yes."

"If we want to survive, in other words."

"Yes."

"...so what happens after five years?"

His look said it all. There was a long silence.

"This week, the U.N. approves Nerv's new budget. They _know_ we need the third series at least, so they're using this to make us help them."

"Politics wasn't in my job description."

"The previous Commander would've done it."

Of course.

"We haven't got much choice. But why do they need _me_?"

"The delegates would respect your opinion. But they also want to ask some awkward questions. So it's win-win for the Committee."

"Right. So, I say some stuff, answer some questions, and they get us what we need. What's the catch?"

He grimaced..

The economic stuff was kind of over her head, though Makoto had just told her enough for her to know where they were headed in the 'long-term'.

But she knew what it meant when there were no catches.

_Backs to the wall_.

* * *

Shinji Ikari shuffled to work alone. The train car was empty. They kept it that way for him.

When he got to work, he sat at his desk with his head in his hands until it was time for class.

His students filed into his class in twos and threes. He was one of 'the old breed'. They even called him 'old man'.

He wasn't even nineteen.

He spent the next fifty minutes giving the fresh meat a lecture on the Evangelions' operational history, with reference to his personal experiences. With four years' piloting experience, he was the most senior pilot.

Tanaka was next, with a little over a year-and-a-half's experience.

The Mass Production Eva-Series was supposed to make the overly-expensive and difficult-to-maintain test-types redundant, allowing their retirement. The MPEs were designed to have an operational life of about twenty years, with regular maintenance. Tanaka had been a pilot of a second-production-run MP Eva. They'd rushed them through when they were down to just him, Enbo, Konev, Mari, and Asuka. The design was identical - and totally inadequate - but they were just meant to buy time, and everyone knew it.

Except the pilots, of course.

But Tanaka had survived. Her original Eva basically hadn't, but they'd been able to build a new one from scratch using the core of her old Eva and parts scavenged from the rest of the series. They'd even christened the new unit 'Lazarus', after some ancient European myth - though Mari had always called it 'Frankenstein'.

After the ten minute break, it was Tanaka's turn to take over. Shinji took up position at the back of the class to help enforce classroom discipline as per their instructions. Tanaka was seventeen now, and heart-achingly pretty despite the acne. LCL was supposed to be good for skin condition, or so he'd once heard someone say (he couldn't remember who) -probably Mari. But it didn't look like it'd helped.

In practice, the delay in ordering the second MP Eva run had been fatal. When the first second-run units were deployed, there weren't any first-runs left. That left them relying on the prototypes, with almost no expendable units whatsoever.

They were okay for a couple of missions. Everyone was seasoned, nobody made any dumb mistakes... and sure, they took some hits, but it wasn't too bad...

He remembered hoping that maybe...just maybe... things would be alright, even if it was only them.

The Second-Generation Mass Production Eva series, with a projected operational life of five years and by his personal reckoning an average combat life of about three minutes, were even worse than the first. They had only one thing going for them: numbers. They'd lost twenty, still had ten, and there were another ten on the way.

And the MkIIIs should be here soon, they were saying. They weren't too bad, but again it was the numbers that counted. Zongren was still kicking around in his MkIII test-type, if only because they'd confined him to support roles. He even had some spare parts now, after what'd happened to the first MkIIIs to see frontline combat. Maintenance/repairs of non-standard Evangelions, like Zongren's had been (and his and Tanaka's always would be) were "a bitch", to use the technical term proferred by Doctor Akagi.

Each time they'd promised that the new series would make the older models redundant, that the older pilots could retire, that they could have lives of their own.

Only he and Tanaka seemed seemed to realise that was a lie.

He found himself watching her as she dismissed the class and sat at her desk, head in her hands, exhausted. He knew that look: sleepless nights. He wished there was something he could do.

Reminding himself what he'd been through to get here, what he'd done, what he'd faced, he forced himself to his feet and mechanically walked over to where she was and sat on the front-row desk opposite her. He stopped thinking of the 'right' thing to say, remembering his counselling, and made himself speak.

"Can't sleep?"

She muttered something.

"That's a yes."

He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, but... something in him shied away. And it wasn't just the chance of being seen.

Overriding the feeling, he reached out and grasped her forearm. It... was awkward.

He fished through his memory, and reached for her hands instead, managing to gently pry them away and clasp both in his own.

"Memories, or fears?"

She looked him in the eye. She was so much braver than he was, at her age. "Both."

"It won't pass."

It was true, but he sensed he'd said the wrong thing. He didn't know how to fix it.

He spoke anyway. "When I was your age, I prayed that it would. I wished for it more than anything. But all you can really do is get used to it."

She was doing the eye-twinkling thing again. His heart hadn't skipped a beat like that since Mari.

"You wished for it _more_ than not having to pilot?"

It was much funnier than it should have been. Mari had always said that it didn't really matter how funny the joke was, just as long as it dispelled the tension. So Tanaka had succeeded where Shinji had forgotten that he should even try.

"Sorry, my sense of humour's..."

"I used to pray you'd get one. But I think I'll learn to accept your lack of it."

Again, tension-relief.

The mood shifted, and his eyes whipped to the door.

He played it cool as... the freshie froze in the doorway. It was one of the more serious ones - not cocky, not arrogant. Agreeable in his own way. He'd probably outlast at least half the rest of his class as a result. Shinji thought how to present this to him.

"Bad dreams," his eyes flashed to the boy's nametag "Dylan. You'll have them soon enough."

"I'm sorry-"

"-Don't be. You're going to see people in a lot worse shape than Miss Tanaka, and if you make it to her age, you'll probably _be_ worse yourself." He gave Dylan a wink.

...then realised what was wrong with that statement, and inwardly cringed _without_ _showing it_ - that had been an important part of Misato's 'leadership training'. Mari had always said that a father-figure could be a soldier, a salaryman, or a scientist - but whatever he was to the outside world, to his charges he had to be a distant authority figure who could never be pleased.

...she'd been joking. He hadn't smiled at first, the first time she told it to him. But her grin had been so infectious that he'd ended up with abdominal cramps, trying fight off the giggles while cradled in her arms. Of course, her tickling him ('to boost your sense-of-humour synchronisation rate!') hadn't helped.

Tanaka laughed. "Oh, _Stoneface_... you're so bloody grim all the time. I'm fine," she told the boy "just a bit tired is all. Too many sync tests. Now take your seat."

Shinji flashed her a look of thanks, and she stuck her tongue out at him as he moved to take her place for the next lesson.

* * *

Thanks for reading! But I've got one little thing to ask of you, i.e. _reviewing._ Please review this story. It doesn't take long and it means a lot to me - I want to know what you think/feel/think-feel. I know I didn't do it as often as I should've, which is why I've got a review-per-(good-)story policy now.

Good luck with your stuff, and may we meet again soon!


	2. 23

Nine years in.

* * *

She removed the blood-pressure meter and resumed typing.

"Why are there so many siblings, anyway? We're not a daycare centre."

"Redundancy."

"Huh?"

He waited, patiently. She would almost always reply when he talked to her, these days. "Psychological casualties are up 700% in the last quarter."

He thought that over. "So what's that actually mean?"

"59.3% for the freshies, including 12.8% irrecoverable. No change for the rest."

Shinji frowned. "Wasn't your conditioning process was supposed to, I dunno, _condition_ them for that?"

"There are certain things no amount of training can prepare one for. Last month, for example."

Shinji grunted his concession of the point. "I still don't like it. The last siblings we had-"

"-Performed well given the stresses they were under-"

"-disobeyed orders and got half my formation killed. Siblings are unreliable and you know it."

She sighed, then resumed typing. "I don't think I need to point out the fact we won't be deploying siblings together anymore. If we can help it."

He gave another grunt. Then sighed.

"Sorry, Ritsu. I'm just..."

"Stressed. I've already granted you leave for this week."

He perked up - a little.

"But what about-?"

"Dylan can handle them. He's a big boy now."

"Yeah." He could always spot the survivors. But his judgement wasn't perfect. In fact, it wasn't even 50/50.

..._Tanaka_.

He interrupted his own thoughts by speaking. "What should I do?"

As Ritsuko thought how to answer him, he realised it was actually a reasonable question.

"You might want to ask Doctor Tomoki for more specific advice, but I think you should get out of town for a while. There's an old resort-town up north where we recommend our personnel take time off. It's reachable by maglev-subway, so you could be there in under an hour."

Ritsuko waited patiently for him to digest the advice. "Thanks, Ritsu."

He made to leave as usual, but she surprised him. "Shinji?"

He turned to face her. "I might join you again, assuming nothing comes up."

He froze.

She turned back to her work. "See you, honey."

He shivered, not unpleasantly.

* * *

It was just him and Maya at this end of the carriage. The train was a recent construction, with no windows or seats, so they were sitting on the floor. The two ceiling-lights flickered erratically.

"Seven," he said, placing the card atop the stack. She hissed and reached for the deck. "Eight, two. Last card."

She bit her lip, then picked up two cards from the deck. He placed his ace atop the stack.

Sighing in defeat, she passed him the packet of Victory Vodka (VV). He opened it and downed half of it while she shuffled the deck. He passed it back.

She took a swig, then coughed. "This stuff is really strong..." He took the cards from her hands and set the next game up while she finished the packet off inbetween swigs from her canteen. "Misato said they have beer there."

"Really?"

He smiled. "Yeah. She knows her stuff. 'The Old Red Bar' has a special tonight, apparently. NERV personnel only."

Maya choked down the last drops and chased them down with one last gulp from her canteen.

"I... didn't even know anyone did beer anymore." She picked up her cards.

"I'm not exactly an expert on it myself. She used to have some, back when I was still living with her."

He sniffed. "Anyway, she said it's, quote, watered down to a piss-like consistency, unquote. But she told me a place we could get more VV to have it with."

She played her hand. "Misato sure knows a lot about drinking."

He grinned. "Yeah."

They continued in silence.

"Mister Ikari!"

Shinji looked up. Back in her day, Asuka had called Nerv 'The Casserole' - "Because there's nothing around here but old meat and green vegetables!"

He'd always thought she was being a bit harsh on the freshers with the 'vegetable' jibe - not all the freshers froze up at the first whiff of combat, though that was happening more and more of late despite the increased indoctrination. What'd always gotten to him about the fresh meat - right up 'til it was put through the grinder - was how it was always excited to be there, pleased to see him, eager to see action...

_Was I 'ever' that stupid?_

Some kid was standing in his personal space, trying to shove a poster into his face. He gave Maya an apologetic look, then turned to deal with the kid.

It was Asuka. Her Unit Two dominated the faded poster. 'Three Kills, Seven Times Wounded In Action!' it proclaimed. In one corner, posing in her plugsuit and that ridiculous cape, she was still there... looking so goddamned young.

They all were, back then.

"Do you like it, Mister Ikari?" The kid lowered the poster. He vaguely recognised them. They were probably in his Junior 2-A class. "It's from my room! It's the only thing they let me take with me." His cheerful demeanour wavered for a second, but he rallied admirably. "Can you sign it for me! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

"I don't have a-"

"I've got three!"

He picked the blue one, scrawled his name in one corner, tried to hand it back - but he pulled out a second poster.

Tanaka had managed to get her unit (Lazarus Unchained! Nine Kills, Four Times Wounded In Action!) to pull a grotesque, sightless grin for the cameras. Her plugsuited image, with her acne photoshopped out, was in one corner making a 'V' (for victory) sign.

She'd signed it.

"She was your teacher?"

"Yeah."

The kid was actually quiet for once. Shinji signed it, then gave him back his marker. "Why me?"

The kid beamed. "'Cos I had this poster since I was a kid!" Shinji kept himself from interrupting. "And you were Miss Tanaka's teacher, and you're _my_ teacher, so, I'm gonna be a _totally awesome_ pilot, right?"

He wanted to punch that smile clean off the kid's face. But the boy was only 13-14, and his student, so he didn't. Even though it probably would've been good for him.

Helped him survive, even.

He settle for shattering the kid's ilusions in a gentler fashion. He...

... decided against saying something about effective but demoralising about Tanaka, skill, and mortality at the last moment.

"Actually, I was her student."

The smile faltered and gave way to a puzzled look.

"She was only 13 when I met her. I was 14, but she was my senior. She taught me most of the things I know today. Helped me survive. Saved me, more times than I care to remember."

"Mis Tanaka...?"

"No. Miss Soryu."

He got a blank look.

"Unit Two's pilot. You wouldn't remember." He'd gotten the junior pilot's attention but, as always, he didn't really know what to do with it. He spoke anyway, knowing that he was being heard.

"Listen to your teammates. Take care of them. I won't always be able to look out for you guys, so you'd better be prepared. Prepared to do it."

The freshie was quiet at last. "Go be with your squad, son. The more you're in-sync with them in your spare time, the more in-sync you'll be on the battlefield."

He could see the kid giving his words serious thought. "Go on, shoo."

The kid trotted off, quiet.

They resumed play.

He won again. Maya shuffled the cards as he downed another packet.

"Haven't seen Unit Two in a while."

He handed the half-empty packet back to her. He shuffled the deck while she drank it in her own time.

"No."

She took a final swig from her canteen, then they started over. He surprised her when he spoke again, so soon.

"I wonder what she'd have thought of this."

"Who?"

"Soryu."

"And what...?"

He gestured 'round the carriage, including the gaggle of junior pilots at the other end.

"This." He smiled.

"She always hated kids."

"That's probably because she was just a big baby herself."

He raised an eyebrow as she went on. "The Unit Two support crew always used to call her 'Princess' when they thought she wasn't looking."

She seemed wary of his reaction. It was cute. It was adorable, actually. He chuckled, giving her his best 'friendly' smile. "Yeah, that was her alright."

He sniffed. "Whatever happened to those guys, anyway?"

She grimaced. "I think most of them are still working on _your_ Eva."

"I thought the Mark V's were supposed to be very similar? I thought they were always complaining about being stuck with the older tech."

"Well, yeah. But Unit One needs all sorts of specialised care. She chews through about... three times, four times a MkV in maintenance costs?"

She gave him a little, hesitant smile. "But fully retiring such a venerable unit would be unthinkable these days..."

She probably thought she was being comforting.

"Ha. Yeah."

* * *

She gave him an expectant look.

"We'll lose."

"How."

He brought up a graph. He tapped the smaller bar. "Estimated production for the next five years." He tapped the larger one. "Our losses, if they remain at the rate established by the seventy-third."

"And we can't just increase funding because...?"

He indicated a pie chart. "Our current share of economic activity." He tapped another. "What we'd need to exceed losses, at the new loss-rate."

"You've asked me about this before. What's the problem?"

"Because _this_," he pointed to a third chart, wherein the 'NERV' portion of activity was noticeably smaller "is the level at which we can sustain minimum calorific intake at."

"For who?"

"Everyone."

She closed her eyes.

"You mean, if we increase production people will starve."

"Yes. And it's not a long-term solution. They wouldn't have enough calories to keep working efficiently after the first..." he scanned a list "...six-to-seven months."

The background hum of the electronics was suddenly very noticeable.

"You knew what I'd say. Why tell me?"

"Because..." he withered under her gaze "It's already done." He tapped a fourth chart "this is what Dr Akagi said we'd need to make the bio-wombs work."

"_And_."

"The Committee's already ruled it absolutely necessary. It's going to be approved next month."

She compared the charts. "That's... _even more_ over the line."

"I know. But it's only temporary - two, three years. After that, we might even be able to get by with _reduced_ funding. And it's the only way we even have a chance of keeping up."

"...we don't get any say in this?"

"No," he muttered "we don't."

"You know fine well what a waste of time and effort the MkV's second run is. We'd be hard-pressed, but-"

"Dr Akagi already suggested that."

"Holding off until the MkVIs."

"Yes."

"Did she."

"Yes. They _want_ redundancy. And if the newest loss rate is anything to go by, they won't be redundant at all. In fact, we might even be short-handed."

She was deadly quiet. Makoto cringed in anticipation of her next words. "_Why did she help them?_"

"Because if it wasn't me, it'd be someone less competent." Ritsuko stood there expectantly, masking her own nervousness with a deliberately nonchalant drag of her cigarette.

For a moment, Makoto thought Misato would snap. A long, long moment.

She addressed him directly and deliberately. "If the pilots find out, I'll kill you myself." She marched out, visibly shaking.

Ritsuko subjected her free hand to close scrutiny and watched it tremble before her eyes. She clenched it into a fist and made her own exit.

Makoto let his forehead rest on the desk, hugging himself tight.

* * *

Calorie-wise, alcohol is a notoriously inefficient use for grain. States short of food often regulate or ban the production of alcohol to help prevent starvation (esp. in wartime, e.g. WWI Russia), but a lot of unregulated/illegal alcohol ends up getting made anyway for sale on the black market because doing so is so profitable (because the demand for it remains constant and the supply is [severely] reduced).

Thanks for the feedback! Those are some of the most interesting and helpful reviews I've ever had - please keep up the good work, and let me know what you think!


	3. 27

Thirteen years in.

* * *

Now it was just the two of them. She could see he wasn't sure what to say.

"I saw Akagi's report. I know we haven't got the slack to implement the repairs she wants, let alone make up for the disruption to MkIX production."

He massaged his temples, gathering his thoughts. He didn't dare look at her.

"I'm sorry-"

"No. If you want to side with Dr Akagi, and The Council, then so be it. But you will _never_ have _my_ approval."

"I don't care how 'necessary' it is," she added.

They'd had this conversation before, word for word. But...

"My Uncle's an SCIP." He said.

"What"

"It's the official term."

He offered no further explanation. She didn't need any. "For political-?"

"-No. For 'Useless...'"

He couldn't say it.

"Why tell me?"

"I guess, I just... wanted you to know. I'm not the one... I mean, it's not me that's... but it affects me too. There's no way you can see that, and not... I see him every couple of months. Seeing that kind of thing - seeing him - kinda makes you want to put on some Marignano and swallow a Retirer, you know?"

"You'd better not," she said "or who else is going to break this grim shit to me?"

She could do better than that. But she didn't really feel like joking now. She sniffed. "I didn't think suicide pills came with Nerv rations."

"They don't. But I've had them for a while."

"Get rid of them."

"..."

"Wanting an easy way out isn't doesn't exactly show much conviction in The Final Victory. Besides, you know what they'll do to your family."

"I know. I know! Believe me, I know. But just having them there makes me feel... it makes it easier."

He caught her eye. "Knowing I have an exit makes living easier."

"Consequences be damned?"

He looked aside, and she continued.

"It's not healthy. And I can't have my subordinates offing themselves on a whim. You run the casualty stats for The Children. You of all people should know the risks of spontaneous suicide."

Unplanned suicide accounted for about 90% of suicide attempts among the general population, and always had - though for The Children with combat experience it was more like 60%. And Retirer pills had a .01% survival rate, according to the Ministry Of Health packaging it came in. "But I'm not-"

"-Get rid of them." There was a long silence. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "Please."

He couldn't refuse that tone, not from her. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"Who are they?" He asked the driver. The driver - Sato? - shrugged.

"More starvers, probably." He coughed into a rag he'd pulled from somewhere.

"What, they want more food?"

"Guess so."

He snorted. "Like that'll ever happen. Can't we get them to move? The kids are getting restless."

"Yeah... nope. The militia are getting right onto it, see..." He tapped one of the monitors showing the view outside the convoy. The militiamen were moving in with batons.

Shinji watched impassively as they beat down a girl of no more than fourteen.

"Supposed to strip-search them, are they?"

The driver stole a glance at the screen. "Ah, nah. That'll be them having their way with her."

In the middle of the street, no less. Shinji scratched his nose. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Technically."

One of the officers suppressing her suddenly crumpled to the ground... with a knife in his neck. She'd managed to stab him in the gap between his helmet and his neck-guard.

_Smart_.

"_That's _illegal, surely."

"Oh, yes. She'll be in for it now."

They resumed hitting her with renewed vigour.

"In _where_, exactly? I thought they were trying to close more prisons down."

"So?"

"Well, that'd make the ones left more crowded, wouldn't it?"

"Why?"

"...oh," he said in a small voice.

"Yeah."

"Surely she'd - _they'd_ - be more useful as forced labour?"

The driver/Sato sniffed. "Ain't no shortage of that. Anyway, you really think them officers is going to let her get to a Justice Panel? Their blood's runnning hot."

He sighed. "Everyone's is. I should know. I've got a brother what's been branded a Useless Mouth. It's no life worth living, that's for sure."

"Your brother's crippled?"

"Nah, not a scratch on him. But he's working in a 'non-essential capacity', so..."

They watched in silence as the way was cleared for them. It wasn't long before they were underway again.

* * *

Shinji got out the commander's hatch and went around to the back to open the rear doors for The Children. At his command - "Out!" - they exited and formed up beside the vehicle.

This batch were squad 2-A. He knew absolutely nothing about them apart from the fact that they were new and he was supposed to be organising bonding exercises for them and shit like that.

So he'd brought them up to this windy, isolated hillside overlooking Operational Zone One for a picnic. It was just J-rations, though he'd supplemented his with a little black-market material, but it was 'the emotional connection forged by shared experience' that was supposed to be important.

"Don't you have normal clothes?"

They were still wearing their plugsuits. He sighed. "Go and sit, eat, talk. _Bond_. Maybe even in that order." They did nothing but stare at him. "Shoo."

He stared back, wondering if they'd understood. But even the Japanese ones were looking at him expectantly.

_Ah._

"You're dismissed. Now piss off and do kid stuff." He said, formally dismissing them. They saluted and broke formation, retrieving their rations from the transport.

The driver gave him space, which he appreciated. So many people had met him and... thought they were friends, somehow, just because they'd heard aaaaaaall about him and what he'd done and all the things he'd killed and with what and when and with whom...

He hated those people with a passion.

This guy, at least, wasn't impressed. And he knew when to give someone space.

Shinji pointedly ignored the counter-snipers who'd taken up positions all around them in favour of eating his chicken sandwich - made with real black-market chicken (or some sort of lean meat, anyway) and wheat-bread, and something resembling cheese - while meandering along the road.

Their escort had used their own armoured transports as impromptu roadblocks, so he was free to take a nap right there in the middle of it for however the hell long he wanted.

Right now he didn't, though, in favour of going to Misato's Spot.

He stood by the guard rail and, as he had all those years ago, looked out over the area that had been Tokyo-3... and waited for the sun to set.

He sat down right there on the road and washed down the last of the sandwich with a gulp from his flask. It was 70% alcohol or something ridiculous like that - it was probably half ethanol - but at least it was safe. The water quality was getting worse all the time. He swore his bath-water had had things swimming in it, last time he'd had one.

Of course, that'd been before the water restrictions. The rest of the population had had them for quite a while, apparently.

He'd never thought of working for Nerv as a privelege, as such. But maintaining pilot morale was important, apparently...something he'd milked for all it was worth. Hell, it was why half his squad - 2-A - was eating genuine 10% animal-flesh-paste right now, not that other stuff. He even made sure they got their daily ration of hard spirits, even if it too was half ethanol.

In practice, they tended to save it up - either to get drunk enough to forget everything every few days, or to spend every second day slightly tipsy. A long while back... a _long_ while, back when they were still chewing through the third MP series, Ritsuko had tried to get the kids to do 'constructive' things together lin their spare time like... sitting around a piano and signing songs.

They'd had von Halder at first, and he'd been a dab hand at the piano. And most of them had been able to carry a tune. But then there was only Georges, who was... okay, but nothing stellar. They'd had to find some easier arrangements of the music for him because he found von Halder's accompaniments a little hard. But Georges had been years ago.

This batch - the lot of them, not just 2-A - didn't have a single musician among them. Most goddamn advanced battle-machines on the face of the planet and they were the singularly most uncultured little shits he'd ever met. He'd brought his cello to the Christmas meet last year. They'd never even heard of a cello before, let alone heard one played.

Except for that one kid, of course. He'd played some Elgar for them and about ten seconds in she started sobbing into her punch, and couldn't stop. Nobody moved to comfort her.

He'd managed to say some kind words to her afterward, but he hadn't seen her after that night - she must've washed out of the program.

Anyway. Point is, there wasn't a single musician among them. Hadn't been for two generations.

But they had three kids who'd turned in someone else for Defeatism. Even their own family. _Especially_ their own family. Not that he knew what having a family was supposed to be like, of course - bar his time with Misato, which had been decent enough. But even he knew that was...

He took a last swig and put the empty flask away, focusing instead on the pockmarked, scarred landscape - the site of a thousand battles over as many years, or so it felt to him.

Actually, it'd only been... what, ninety-six? Ninety-seven, maybe. He had no idea anymore. He'd lost count. They were just enemies to him. Enemy, enemy, enemy...

Darkness came, and with it the midgies. They'd never bothered him much, though he was gleefully amused at the thought of them savaging his charges and eating them alive.

Just like what'd happened to poor Konev, actually. Only with a 'fragmented core' Angel that'd been a devil to kill, and not small biting insects that made you itchy.

Some kid or other came scampering along to him after a while. He didn't bother concealing how pissed-off he was at being disturbed (he wasn't, actually, but he just wanted to screw with the kid).

"Um... Captain Ikari?"

"Whaddisit, kid? Kiddo..." he slurred.

"Um..."

The moment drew out unnecessarily long. "I'm drunk. Sue me. Not that you know what 'sue' means. Have you even _heard_ of a court? A _real_ court, not a court-martial. Anyway. Speak."

"Um... we're... we were, um, we were wondering when we might possibly be leaving? There are a lot of midgies around, and we-"

"-Now. We're leaving now. Come on, kiddo." He got to his feet.

"Um, it's 'Richard'-"

"-Yeah, look, that's nice and all. But do you really think that I'd be able to sleep at night if I learned all your names? No offense." He sniffed. "Kid."

They walked back in silence.

At least, until Richard tried to talk to him.

"Um, Captain Ikari sir?"

He didn't respond. For some reason, Richard took that as an invitation to continue, not a hint to desist because he was being an irritating little shit. "Is it... was it...is it really true that you..."

Sayaka would've found his stumblings and fumblings adorable.

"How long have you been here? I mean, at Nerv." He blurted out "Because, I mean, everyone knows you, _everyone_, and, nobody remembers who came before you because you were always there and, you taught everyone..."

Sayaka's panties would've been dropping faster than...something really heavy, if she'd been here right now.

Only not, because heavy things didn't actualy fall faster than really light things. Asuka had explained that to him once, a long time ago, back when they were still in school and he was struggling with some homework or other. It'd made sense to him at the time, but for some reason - probably because he was tipsy - it sounded really silly right now, that a light thing could drop at the same speed - or faster- than a heavy thing.

Anyway, Sayaka would've loved this kid. Mari too, of course. She'd liked kids. Then again, she'd been one herself. Even Tanaka had been older than her.

"Um, Captain Ikari?"

They were nearly back, but he stopped. He took a deep, calming breath. Then gave the kid a sickly-sweet smile.

"No."

He kept walking.

"You're mean."

He stopped. And found himself grinning.

"You're _always_ mean! And _old_. And _nasty_. You're just being mean _for no reason_ and it's super-unfair!"

He smiled, and sniffed. The wind up here often left his eyes uncomfortably dry, but that wasn't a problem anymore all of a sudden.

When he turned to face the boy, the kid seemed to be regretting his outburst - but wasn't taking his words back.

Shinji smiled, wryly. Wearily. "You _probably_ won't die like an idiot. The rest is up to you, I guess. Well. You, the enemy, and pure dumb luck."

He knew only too well which of those three things - _alone_ - he himself was still here by virtue of.

_It's not fair._

He wiped his nose with his handkerchief, and picked the sleep from his eyes with it as well. "If you're still here in three months, you can ask me whatever the hell you like. And I will answer."

He walked on.

* * *

Thanks again for the reviews... there's some real food for thought among them. Do I feel silly asking for more? Kinda. But if you found it interesting - let alone bad/good - please review my story.

Thanks for reading!


	4. 29

Fifteen years in.

* * *

Shinji Ikari sat on the floor of the carriage. He was alone.

He went to work and sat at the desk, too tired to sleep. He stared at his hands.

2-A saluted as it went past, split up, and sat before him - stock-still, quiet.

At some point he woke up again. He was so tired he hadn't even noticed himself falling asleep.

2-A hadn't moved.

He checked his watch. "Okay, take a break for tea."

They didn't move. "Shoo."

One of them nearly made to move, but a Political Pilot shot them a look and they froze. Shinji rubbed his temples. "You're dismissed. Now _shoo_."

They saluted and most of them filed out. One hunkered down and slept at their desk. Another, fragile-looking one flopped onto theirs and hugged themselves mumbling something over and over.

"I was wondering what they'd do."

"And?" Shinji said, not looking up.

"I pulled out a magazine about halfway through. One of the Political Pilots actually called me out on it."

"And?"

"She said I wasn't setting a good example. She threatened to report me to Okada."

Shinji frowned. "Who?"

"He said you'd ask that. 'Poster kid'."

"I can't remember _everyone's_ names," he retorted, and avoided reflecting on that statement by keeping the conversation going with the first thing that came to mind about... Poster-Boy. Fuck. How long ago had that been, that first meeting? He'd met the kid since then, of course. And 'Poster _Boy_' had to be at least 20 by now. "Since when did _P__oster Boy _start getting all serious about anything?"

"He hasn't, to Dr Akagi's _supreme_ frustration. He's still taking his post... geddit, _post_," Shinji refused to be amused by something that wasn't even a real play on words "about as seriously as ever. Which is a damned good thing. Just imagine what we'd be like if _Takada_ was Chief Political Officer!"

He rallied. "But still, that girl was goddamn hilarious. She actually said I'd" he did the voice "'never defeat The Enemy without conviction in The Final Victory'!"

Shinji grinned. Political Officer Kensuke Aida continued "But the best part is, she hasn't fought a single battle yet!"

"Not one?"

"Nope!"

Kensuke Aida Junior was everything his late father hadn't been - calm, competent, and an Evangelion pilot who'd been with them for about two years now.

They laughed together, though the new girl's delusional self-righteousness wasn't actually that funny.

They really had nothing to talk about after that. Shinji liked to think the silence between them was a comfortable one.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He knew what came next. Aida didn't take his silence as a signal not to press him.

"It's about my father..."

Shinji sighed. "What about him?"

"How did he die?"

He gave his answer careful thought, but in the end abandoned it in favour of the truth. "It had nothing to do with Eva. He was basically our team mascot, I guess. He never piloted, and he was only ever in one once. But he kept us together, I guess, in those early years. If it wasn't for him, spurring us on, I don't think we'd have made it."

He thought about forcing his hands open, and onto the desk. But he left them alone. He could see that Aida Junior was on the verge of telling him that it was okay, and that he didn't have to go on, and saying 'I know it must be hard for you' without having _any_ idea what that really meant.

...no, that was unfair. Aida _did_ know. He just hadn't been at it for... so long. _So_ long...

"I guess it's a wound that's never really healed, losing all of them. It was stupid, and it shouldn't have happened. The world wanted safety on a shoestring, so my friends died. And I lived. I _always _live. And now they have _these_ guys," he motioned to the nearly-empty classroom, "Not that it's ever enough. It's all _temporary_ solutions, one patch on top of another on a boat that's more holes than hull, sinking slowly but surely."

He took a deep breath "But your father wasn't there for any of that. He didn't see what Nerv has become. He only knew it in the 'good old days', when it had a face and that face was Asuka, and Mari, and everyone else, and not just me..."

He could see Aida was past the point of knowing what to say. "It's fine. You don't have to say anything. Just... you hearing this is enough. It's enough." He closed his eyes, and didn't say a word more.

Eventually, he opened them again and Political Officer Aida was at the back of the fully-returned class, overseeing discipline.

Shinji flipped his folder open to a random page.

He stood up, chalk in hand. "The engagement to destroy Angel X-23..."

* * *

Shinji walked down the line. "And what did _you_ do?"

She hesitated. "I... I overturned a nest of the insidious collaborationist foe, sir." She saluted weakly.

Her own parents, in other words. Her rank/comendations pips said she was a junior pilot whose relative - i.e. a sibling - had died in action as a pilot.

They'd - her parents - probably asked too many questions about what'd happened to her sibling. Or maybe they'd tried to go political with it. Maybe the loss had been a spur to action, no matter how self-destructive and unlikely to succeed.

He caught the squad's Political Pilot glaring at her from the corner of his eye, and made him back down with a glare of his own.

Her evident lack of pride in what she'd done would probably cause her grief in the form of her squad-mates. He drew on what was by now an old lie to cover for people like her. "Try not to be overwhelmed by your pride. It's okay to admit pleasure at such an accomplishment. After your personal sacrifice, none can question" - for a moment his gaze flicked to the Political Pilot - " your commitment to realising The Final Victory."

He delicately - almost daintly - gripped her wrist and lifted it, pressed the medal into her palm and squeezed her fingers closed around it. He gave a her a pointed look.

_Sorry._

"No running away after this, Miss. Stay behind please."

He moved to the next Child.

* * *

He dismissed them, and she remained.

"How long have you been with us, Miss...?"

"Horaki. Six days, sir."

"Horaki?"

"Yes, s-"

"Don't call me 'sir', ever again. It make me feel old."

"Yes, Mister Ikari."

He was silent for a long moment. "Horaki?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Your sibling served."

"No, sir. It was my mother."

"And her name was?"

"Hikari, sir?"

He was old. So, so old. In that moment, he felt the weight of his age - and had to steady himself on his feet. Half-dazed, he found himself speaking. "How old are you, Miss Horaki?"

"13, s-... Mister Ikari."

"What was your mother like, Miss Horaki?" He closed his eyes.

"I don't remember. I was too little."

He breathed deep, and calmly. "So who did you report, if not your parents?"

"My guardian." She looked about ready to tear up again. "He wasn't... nice... but I didn't think they'd actually..."

"Shh, shh, it's fine. It's-" She broke down. He ended up crouched down, hugging the tiny child to his chest - kids were so _small_ these days, each generation shorter than the next - while she bawled her eyes out.

* * *

He pulled out the cellular phone's antenna and called her.

"What."

"It's me."

Her voice warmed a little. "Shinji. Make it quick?"

"I want to adopt a pilot," he said. "like you did me."

She was quiet for a change. "That's... a big ask. I'm not sure I can authorise that."

"Sure you can. Nerv regulations haven't changed since father's time, have they?"

"Well, _no_, but... what's the rush?"

"She's the daughter of... one of my comrades' friends."

"Oh. She doesn't have parents?"

"A guardian. But she turned them in."

"Oh..."

He had to admit that sounded bad. He was hardly the mostly politically-acceptable Nerv member himself. "He sounds like a real bastard. No sexual or physical abuse, but total emotional neglect."

"Like me," he added. "But not with you, obviously." That didn't sound too great either. "But mostly, I guess... just talking to her? She may be the only normal girl left i_n the world_. Her guardian was some high-flyer so she's rarely been hungry, and she's just so _good_, and _nice_, and... I don't want the others to bully her into shape, like they do for all the unorthodox ones. I can't just stand by and let them break her."

Another long silence. "Unorthodox?"

"She didn't do Ritsuko's 'training'. Which _I don't agree with_, by the way, I'm just making that clear. But she won't be dissuaded." He sighed. "Every time I talk to her, she just throws up this... _wall_ of statistics, and all these psychological concepts I can't even begin to understand, and...-"

"-Can you believe that woman wants _more_ resources for her indoctrination projects? Just last week she had the nerve to come to me complaining of budget shortfalls."

"You really can't stop her?"

"No. The Committee keeps going over my head. Restricting her budget is the best I can do. But I'm almost certain she's using 'creative acounting' to get what she wants anyway..."

She changed topic. "Why are you even seeing her anyway?"

Shinji cringed. They'd been here before. _Many_ times. "We're _not_ seeing each other-"

"-So, what, you're just a booty-call to her? I swear, _that woman_ has _no_-"

"-Misato, please. I don't want to talk about this."

He wished they could just get along. But he knew that could never happen. Not anymore. "Can I take her or not? Miss Horaki, into my care. I can, right?"

He half-expected the silence to go on even longer than it did. "Yes. Just... don't make my mistakes, okay, Shinji?"

"Hey, there weren't _that_ many. You were better than father, anyway. Father _and_ my old guardian. A _lot_ better. Which wasn't exactly hard, in father's case, but..."

He was getting off-topic. "But don't worry. I won't."

He wished he had confidence in that promise.

* * *

"So. _That's_ the strategic situation," said the commander.

"In a nutshell," said the captain.

The minister thought it over, then spoke. "So, things are... bad, or so you say. I can see you're very concerned about this 'critical strength' level, though I confess I don't quite see the need for, ah, such concern, but I can see what you mean when you say MkXII production is too low... now, morale is also low, I hear."

"Maybe, but Rits- I mean, Dr Akagi has some ideas. We don't approve, but... she says we've maxed out our morale. So she wants more discipline."

He wasn't getting through. "She wants to make it so it takes more courage to retreat than to advance. I'd rather die than implement her program, but The Committee seems intent on going over our heads and giving her _even more _power. I'm telling you, this won't help. She _may_ increase discipline, but just think what it'll do for morale! Morale isn't something you can stamp out of steel for three million dollars a unit! There is _no, substitute,_ for an adequate diet and a healthy, _normal_ living environment. They may be decent pilots, but they are horrendous human beings and their teamwork is a _joke_! They just can't... interact with each other, let alone bond or learn good teamwork, like normal people do! And no amount of discipline is going to change that. She's got it fundamentally wrong."

It'd come out as little better than a wall of sound. He sighed. "She's a brilliant lady, but she just doesn't understand people. We need to return to the old part-time piloting and support-network method, and more than anything we need increased rations. I know it's not fair, but even a small increase in rations will go a long way. We don't even have 200 pilots, so a little calorie increase isn't going to break the bank."

"Thank you, Captain. You know I value your input and I can assure you, we're negotiating with our sponsors to the fullest extent of our abilities-"

"-_Ha_. Like _that's_ ever changed anything-"

"-What would you have me do, Mr Ikari? You know what I have to battle with. If it was that easy to give you everything you want, believe me, I would have done it a long time ago. I know how hard you work. Both of you. And I promise you, I'm trying. But I can only do so much." He sighed.

"So, thank you, Captain. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't do more." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Though there is one thing I can do. The Prime Minister has authorised me to activate your strategic reserve. Your Chief Science Officer - Dr Ibuki? - has only given me the details of five of the reserve's units. I'd appreciate it if you could disclose the remaining units' details."

The captain and the commander exchanged a look the minister couldn't decipher, and the minister opened his folder to the relevant article and pointed it out to them. "Only Units One, 78, 939, 1749, and 2404 are listed. While I understand that five units is the minimum reserve that we had stipulated, we had authorised a maximum strength of... one hundred ninety-nine units. Yet this is all I was given when I asked after the strategic reserve."

The Nerv people exchanged another look, then the commander spoke. "That's all we have. And they're the reserve for a reason. Captain Ikari here is not just Head of Tactical Operations, but also the pilot of Unit One. He can't be in two places at once, one or both his roles will suffer if he is activated, even if he doesn't directly participate in an operation."

She continued "Unit 78 doesn't even have a pilot right now, our only replacement is too young and doesn't even have a week's training. Unit 939 is Lieutenant Sivright," she clarified for Shinji "Dylan. He's head-teacher for our pilot academy. Unit 939 is Captain Okada Toshio, Dr Akagi's chief political officer. And Units 1749 and 2404 are the junior academy instructors."

She dumbed it down. "If we put these people on the line, then we're destroying our future. We... didn't that luxury with the first generations," she said, Shinji not meeting her eye "and that was one of our greatest mistakes. While they may be our best fighters, they are literally irreplacable. And not just for morale purposes."

She added, with another aside glance "And I don't need to tell you what losing Unit One would look like."

Shinji's silence worried her. She'd said too much. The minister, too, was quiet. She was surprised when Shinji spoke first.

"I'm sorry we aren't what you expected," he said. "We even lie to ourselves, these days, so you shouldn't be so surprised. Yesterday I told squad 2-A that five hundred combat-ready Evas with positron rifles would be here by next month," the captain added.

He raised his head and gave Shinji a look. "So you didn't think it'd damage their morale when a month passes and five hundred Evas with positron rifles don't just magically appear?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"They'll be dead."

He sensed he'd just killed the conversation for good.

After a long, long silence, it stirred again with more words from the minister.

"You have my apologies, Captain. I... think I already know the answers to these next questions, having heard what I have from you," he said shifting his papers "but I have to ask them anyway. The Cabinet had held hopes that Dr Akagi's new positron cannon-"

"-doesn't work, and never will. Dr Akagi says we've reached the limits of what's physically possible with the materials we have."

"...well, the drones-"

"-Two years from production," she said. Shinji chipped in. "I.e. _never_."

"I...see. And the _Wunder_?"

Shinji grimaced more than he snorted as she spoke. "Made up. Name's short for _'Die Fantastische Wunderwaffe'_."

Shinji knew hope was contagious, but surely people as high up as them knew Nerv couldn't afford to waste resources on something so ridiculous.

Then again, the most effective lie was one you wanted to be true, e.g. 'father loves me'. (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

The man sat.

Shinji exchanged a look with her. "Do you need a minute?"

"Yes," he said in a small voice.

"Again, I'm sorry," Shinji said.

"No, no... it's okay," he said "it's... nobody's fault, really. We're all just doing the best we can, right?"

Shinji wondered whether he should say what came to him, in that moment. It wasn't something he could say to anyone else, apart from Ritsuko.

"Too bad it's not good enough," he said.

* * *

Thanks again for your responses, it's been... quite something, to have such detail and quality of feedback. So thanks for giving it to me.

If you could kindly review again/as well, that would be good of you - chances are, if you're reading these words you've kept your thoughts to yourself. Please don't.

Thanks for reading, for reviewing, and for letting me share a fair bit of myself with you. You're a great, if far-too-quiet, audience!


	5. 29 point 5

15.3 Years in

* * *

Dinner finished, Kensuke excused himself. The remaining roommates continued to read at the table.

After a while, Hikari broke the silence.

"Hey, Mister Ikari-"

"Shinji."

"Whatever. Why've the Pollies got their own squadron?"

"Politics."

"That's not an answer."

He sighed and looked up from the well-read newspaper - Misato gave him her personal copy every afternoon. The three roommates would share it over the course of the afternoon/evening.

Well. All Hikari Junior really read was The Funnies, though she'd skim the rest first for appearances' sake.

It'd been at least a decade since he'd read a new cartoon. TV was even worse.

"Well," he said "it's a very stupid story. Doctor Akagi agrees that it's a moronic idea that reduces our operational effectiveness and raises the net casualty-rate, but it happened anyway."

"Still not an answer."

He grinned, but it faded quickly. "Mister Okada was always very ambitious, and command-level rations are very tempting." He found himself off on a tangent. "Some might say that grassroots support made it inevitable, but that's bullshit. We're too far removed from the public for that."

He sniffed. "Anyway. In a word? Politics."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. She just had to have the last word, though.

"I was just asking, jeez. You didn't have to make a whole speech out of it and everything."

He smiled. It was small, but - like so many of them lately - genuine.

* * *

15.6 Years in

* * *

He plucked the bottle out of Kensuke's hands and placed it out of his reach.

"Ken, you gotta stop doing this man."

"What, 'sjust... 'sjust my rations, man..."

"It's not. I can tell black-market packaging when I see it. Black market stuff _isn't safe_, I keep telling you that."

He held back Kensuke's hair as he retched and made to vomit into the toilet again. Shinji caught sight of Hikari. She mouthed 'is he okay?' with a look more of disgust than, well, sympathy. 'He's fine', he mouthed back, and she disappeared without a word. He flushed the toiled and rubbed Kensuke's back as his roommate slumped down again, forehead resting on the bowl.

"Better now?"

Despite the lack of a reply, Shinji liked to think the silence was a comfortable one. He was almost surprised when Kensuke broke it.

"How do you do it?"

"You're going to have to be a little more specific."

"Live. How do you keep on living? What's there to live for? Another week of watery stews and craptastic alcohol? I'm sick of just surviving. I wanna _live_."

He hiccuped. "Like you did, in the old days, when you had-" another hiccup "chicken and, and _beer_. And every second family had a car, and there was more than one kind of paper, and people believed in things other than _T__he goddamned Final Victory_. _You know, the one that never comes_."

He was just like his dad. Really. _Just_ like him. Spitting image, and temperamentally they were so alike it was uncanny.

"Ease up, champ. One day at a time." He sighed. "Look, I know all that stuff must sound great to you. But I don't miss it. It's just stuff."

He had his attention now. All he had to do now as say more-or-less the right thing, and wait until later to come to terms with the irreperable psych-damage he'd probably have done the kid.

"But _you_ are not replaceable, and you are not 'stuff'. You're my ward, and I live to see you safe. As I do Hikari."

Wonderboy had nothing to say. He still felt he'd screwed up a little, somehow, but oh well. He'd tried, at least. Couldn't fault himself for that.

"Come on, champ. Brush your teeth, then let's get you to bed with a nice glass of boiled water okay? I'll put the kettle on."

It wasn't a special occasion - not _really_ - but he added some of the Tea Leaves to the water. He got the sinking feeling, as the leaves refused to sink, that you were probably supposed to add the water to the Tea Leaves and not the other way 'round.

He put the mug of sort-of-tea on the floor by Kensuke's futon.

"It smells really nice..."

"It's tea."

"For real? I didn't even know we had any..."

He chuckled. "A little, but it's only for special occasions."

He ruffled Aida's hair. "'night, champ."

"Goodnight, Shinji."

* * *

15.9 years in

* * *

He sighed, tapping the paper with his pen. "Okay, how about this. Remember Enemy T-23?"

"Yeah..."

"How did we kill it?"

"We piped that stuff into it and then stabbed it."

"_Right_, right. Do you remember what the stuff was?"

She sniffed. "They didn't tell us."

"Oh."

He scratched the back of his head. "Well, that stuff was coolant. You see, thermal expansion..."

Idly, she watched him wrestle with how to explain it. Eventually, he seemed to give up. "Bigger things are..." he coughed "When a thing gets hot it gets bigger, and when it gets cold it gets smaller. But sometimes it works the other way 'round, like with ice cubes."

"What're 'ice cubes'?"

He practically tore his hair out.


	6. 30

Sixteen years in.

* * *

"You'll be merged into the No.2 Combat Group along with the Second Redemption Unit," he told Unit 2-A.

All three of them stared straight ahead, stock still. The third, though, trembled slightly and her arms spasmed at intervals - mental contamination, simply called 'the shakes'. The newest models had sacrificed yet more safety in the pilot-Eva interface for ease of production, leading to irreversible and exponentially worsening neuromuscular degeneration after the first twelve hours of synchronisation. It always started in the fingers, he noted as she fought to keep her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"No.2 Combat Group will be led by me, so no more Pollie Pilots. Pollie- sorry, Political Officer Aida will handle all Political functions." Dying was bad enough without 'uplifting primers' piped into your ears. The exhortations of The Faithful were tiresome enough under ordinary circumstances. "Any questions? Yes, you."

The second asked "I thought Second Redemption would be assigned to No.3 Combat Group?"

"No.3's under-strength as of last week, it's being merged into 1 and 2. I got the Penal - oh, sorry," he said sarcastically "_Redemption_ Units assigned to us." Everyone knew how he felt about the Redemption Units. His thoughts darkened.

_Ritsuko..._

He didn't understand her. He remembered a time when he'd thought that he had, maybe - a little. But he'd just been lying to himself. The woman's mind was like the face of the moon, Ganymede, Titan - distant, alien, its depths hidden 'neath even the most sensitive and advanced of scientific instruments' gazes.

Hidden, and _cold_. He and Misato had limits. They'd paid for that.

He'd often wondered how the world could mesh so perfectly with Ritsuko's morality, and not their own, when only theirs had even the faintest trace of humanity or human decency to them.

"No more questions? No-?ohwait, sorry. Yes?" The third one raised her hand, which she had gotten under control for the moment - though as he watched, he could see her fingers twinge and strain against her 'grip'. "Mister Ikari... are we going to die?"

He'd expected it to be about 'the shakes', so he was caught off-guard - a rare thing these days. Once upon a time, he might've struggled to answer her question in an adequate and timely fashion that kept her on the path he had in mind for her. As it was, he knew exactly what to say. "Doctor Akagi is on the verge of a breakthrough using Evangelion technology and the secrets behind Second Impact. The details are classified, but this war _will_ be over before you've even earned your stripes. We just have to make it through to then, okay?"

He remembered when a stripe had indicated a _year_ of experience. One year, for his birthday, class 2-A had banded together to make an armband (from linen) with the correct number of his stripes on it and then bugged him until he gave in and agreed to wear it for the day. They'd done the stripes extra-thick, so the 'armband' ended a metre from his fingertips. They'd thought it was hilarious, especially when he'd nearly tripped on the damn thing half a dozen times.

He reckoned his delivery had been adequate, though his grin had probably been overly grim. Only the third didn't appear reassured. He made a mental note to give her another pep-talk later. He may not have been a Pollie, but it _was_ his job to buck up morale.

"That it? Alright. Now piss off, 2-A." He smiled as they didn't move, and hesitated as well.

Another 2-A (most, even) might have bolted. But these ones didn't, so he had time to reach a conclusion. As if in a dream he spoke his mind. "Fourteen years ago," he said "Mari Makinami and I were assigned to teach the first Class 2-A."

"I have been the teacher and Training Officer of Class and now Unit 2-A for longer than you have been alive. I taught Tanaka Date, Konstantin Konev, Zongren Li, Dylan Sivright, and Kensuke Aida Junior. But in our first class there were twenty-three kids no-one's ever heard of, and no-one is left to remember. You don't even know who I mean by 'our'."

"I'm Shinji Ikari," he said. "What is your name?" he asked the third Child.

* * *

When he got home that night, Horaki and Aida weren't there yet so he decided to spend the time putting the finishing touches on their supper. But first he went to his room.

The drab, unpainted all-concrete flat was a wartime construction so the only things in his room were his futon, his clothes, and the piles of papers clustered about the spot on the floor where he filled them out. He opened the window to let some light in and folded his coat up, putting it in a neat pile on the floor.

He went and knelt by where he'd propped the cork-board against the wall, right by his pillow. He only had the one photo-phrame - his 18th birthday present from Misato. It was a simple little thing of thin plastic. It had his first photograph of her in it - the one from all those years ago, scribble and all. His thoughts always returned to how well-made her clothes looked, how carefree _and __young_ she looked.

Originally there'd been a different photo in it, of someone else, for all of thirty seconds. But he'd realised that the subject of said photo wouldn't have approved. In fact she'd have clopped him around the ears, then told him to stop being such a nonce and get over it - well, _her_ - already.

Most of the things pinned to the board were small, faded photographs and I.D. cards, but the centre of it was dominated by a proper photograph half-covered with various scribbles made with permanent marker. Directly beneath it there was an empty space. In it, he placed this last photo.

The _finality_ of it struck him, and he wanted to lie down for a while. A _long_ while. He wanted to sleep now, even before the sun was down, and wake up not just to another day but to a _tomorrow_. A _real_ tomorrow, different _in a good way_ to what came before...

But he had a meal to prepare right now, and a night-shift - complete with a meeting with Akagi - to go back to after that. He made himself get up and leave with only a single backward glance.

* * *

"Doctor." He sat.

"Shinji. We have an opportunity to win the war."

"Bullshit."

"I was experimenting with the work of the late commanders Fuyutsuki and Ikari when I made a discovery that may change everything."

She brought up some images. "The truth behind Second Impact."

"This... it's an Angel."

"Yes, Shinji. Second Impact and The War are related. Your father's work appreciated that. Building on his work, I have found a way to end The War."

"Third Impact," he said flatly "is not-"

"This isn't Third Impact. It's something new. I set up a facility at the South Pole to continue my work in private."

"You expect me to believe all this."

She placed a very thick folder in front of him. "I even included layman's translations for you."

"Kind of you I'm sure."

"Indeed. Now, while I finally have the breakthrough I've been working for all these years, there is just one problem." She brought up an image.

"Angel."

"Yes, my work did not go unnoticed. I want you to lead a task-force to take my facility back."

"I'm needed here."

"This work could win us the war."

"I've heard you say that every day for twenty years."

"I mean it this time." She was serious. "This is the real deal. No more patches, no more emergency measures. This is a clean fix. If I get this right, we can all go home tomorrow." She sniffed. "Figuratively speaking, of course. But if I can salvage that research and get it to the bio-wombs, this war is as good as won."

"You're the only competent pilot left, and the most experienced. Can I count on you?"

"Enemy Z-42 is expected to attack after 24 hours."

"We've got more than enough mincemeat to throw at it."

"Ritsuko..."

"They don't need corset-stiffeners like you to hold them together right now. What they need is an end to the war. Even if we don't lose more than... _five_ in this engagement, what then? You know the state of MkXIX production, let alone everything else."

"This is different. I have a kid now. I can't just _leave her_ to face-"

"Shinji," she said, deliberately, "I'm not my mother. I don't know what it's like to be a parent. But this is our only hope. You could save her today, but what about tomorrow? And tomorrow? And tomorrow? _This_ is our only chance of ending this war _for good_."

"I know that you and I, and Misato, haven't seen... _eye-to-eye_ on a lot of things. But I've never promised anyone anything I couldn't deliver."

'Unlike you' went unsaid, he noted. She knew when to bite her tongue.

"So when I tell you that this is it - everything we've been hoping for - then I expect you to believe me."

It only took him seven minutes and a cigarette - courtesy of her - to reply, though it seemed like much longer.

* * *

He returned home later that night.

The light was off when he got there. He turned it on and it hummed to life.

They'd eaten dinner and scrubbed up after themselves. No 'thank you' note or anything, of course, but he knew they were grateful.

He went to his room, turned on the light. Packed an overnight bag. He hesitated for a moment. Then he went to the kitchen/laundry/bathroom, opened the maintenance panel and hauled a large case out from the crawlspace beyond. He left it in the center of the communal-room.

He hesitated outside the secondary bedroom, but went in eventually. He tried to wake her gently. "I'm sorry, but... can I hear you play?"

"Shinji..." she was kinda pissed.

"I'll get you a dumpling when I next get back from work, okay?"

She woke instantly. "Meat?"

"Um, no, those..." he mumbled, trying to conceal his revulsion. "Those don't taste very nice," he lied, "but I'll get you some spinach ones."

"_Three_."

"You drive a hard bargain."

She gave him a death-glare.

"But I am forced to concede acceptance to your conditions."

_Already got the knack of bribery. She'll go far in this world of hers._

_...'of hers'?_

She stumbled out of bed on her own and followed him to the communal room. "Won't this wake Kensuke?"

"He's slept through worse. Here." Before she could pick up her instrument he hefted the case and dumped it into her arms. "Happy Birthday!"

"But it's not my birthday..."

"You have no idea when that is."

"I totally do, and it's ages away!" She felt the contours of the case. "But thank you. It looks nice."

"It's just a case. You should see what's at the heart of a matter before you start assessing it in earnest."

"Whatever." She snapped the locks, and opened it. The sickly-sweet smell of resin filled the air - if only because it wasn't edible. If it were, it would've all disappeared years ago.

"It's... _beautiful_."

He smiled. "I know."

The finest that nine cigarettes could buy. In Misato's day it would've cost... a car, maybe?

She sat on the chair, extended the spike and slotted the tip into a hole in the floor, gave the strings a few experimental plucks as she tightened the bowstring. "You tuned it."

"Most days. I confess I may not have been able to help myself from getting some practice in."

"I thought presents were supposed to be unused?"

"Probably. Could you play...?" She knew which one.

It was simple, but the best works were. Or at least, the arrangements for amateur/child players were. He could still recall, vaguely, the lyrics. Asuka had managed to beat them into him in the days leading up to the first New Year's Eve of the war - looking back, he couldn't believe just how much meat they'd had (two whole chickens!) - but he hadn't sung them with anyone since von Halder.

She was still wringing an okay-ish vibrato (for the amount of practice she put in) out of the final note when she said "I don't really like Beethoven."

"Oh?"

"Well, I do, because it's all really good music. But Brahms is so much more expressive. And Elgar. And Britten."

A controversial opinion, but not a baseless one. He found himself smiling.

_ Would you look at Little Miss Cultured?_

"I'm going for a conference in India, so I'll be a few days. There's some money on the counter, and Aida knows how to cook. But _no street-vendors, okay?_ Promise me."

"But-"

"But nothing. I told you where they get their cooking oil from, let alone everything else. So no street-vendors, okay?"

He got a nod, which was probably good enough. Formalities aside, he wasn't exactly the boss of her. More a... drastically older sibling with parental overtones. And the occasional, deeply discomfitting stirring he despised for the way it cheapened his affection for her.

"Again, sorry to wake you. But I kinda needed this." He was still surprised at the way he could be so brazen with his feelings. She said nothing.

"In it for the dumplings and street food. I get it," he said smiling. "But seriously. No street food," he said, wagging a finger very seriously in a way that made him feel kinda silly... but mostly just stuck-up and unadventurous, even he was right to have kept that kind of stuff well away from her.

* * *

Kensuke was still barely awake. "So why didn't he really go to India, again? Start over..."

"_Because_ _it's rainy season but he __didn't take his poncho or anything and Eva Unit One is gone, everyone said so_."

"Oh," he said, cursing the impurities that he knew were the actual cause of hangovers and not the alcohol itself. "Fair enough."

* * *

Alone in the cabin, Shinji scribbled hesitated with pen and open notebook in hand.

He looked out the porthole at the fleet beyond - tankers, container ships, frigates, destroyers. The Home Fleet, they called it. Whatever she'd said about this being a last-minute thing, he was almost certain that she'd had her suspicions that something like this would happen. There was no way she'd have had the entire fleet on-hand otherwise. Piracy was just too much of a problem to for the U.N. to strip this many combat-vessels (i.e. _all of them_, he reckoned) from their duties.

For the upteenth time he looked to where someone had carved 'Ryouji+Misato 4eva' into the bedside table, and wondered if Mister Kaji was still alive.

He returned to the notebook. Eventually, he began to write.

Kensuke - don't ever lose sight of your principles. Keep your head above the mayhem. Look after Hikari for me.

New page.

Hikari - sorry I couldn't do more. Keep up the cello. Look after Kensuke for me.

He knew he'd regret it if he didn't, so he added - I love you.

Then added it to the end of Kensuke's note as well. New page.

Misato - thanks for everything. We did what we could, didn't we? I love you.

New page.

Ritsuko - don't you dare die on us. You haven't made things right yet.

New page.

He hesitated, and stared out the porthole again.

Tanaka - I'm sorry I didn't do more for them. But thank you for making me realise I should be trying to. Even if it didn't really work out.

Same page. New line.

Konstantin - you dumb, bullheaded Russian bastard. I wish I'd known you better. 1A's never been better than it was under you. Thanks for being so supportive.

Mari - my feelings haven't changed. You know that, you patronising asshole.

She'd just flick him on the nose and poke him mercilessly if he said anything as sappy and blindingly obvious as 'I love you'.

Kensuke Snr - I told you it was dangerous, but you just wouldn't listen, would you? But we owe you, all of us. We wouldn't have made it without you, you know that?

Asuka - I'm sorry I couldn't help you, or be the person you wanted me to. I'm sorry things turned out the way they did. I'll make it up to you.

Touji -

He hesitated.

Touji - thanks for being so cool about everything. You really kept us together, you know. I'm sorry it had to end that way.

Hikari Snr - you always did your best for all of us, and thanks for" he hesitated "being there. Have I done the right think by your daughter? I've done the best I can, but I still fear it's not enough. I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner for her. I'm sorry I never looked into her circumstances, and I know it was wrong of me to just assume that things would work out, but thinking about you and everyone else was just too painful.

Father -

He scribbled it out.

Gendo - you were a weak, selfish fool. I will always wonder why you were allowed to do so much harm.

Rei - your name keeps coming up in Ritsuko's work, and I can't help but wonder _who, _and not just _what,_ you really were. I guess I'm sorry we never got the chance to find out.

He re-read the page several times over the course of the next twelve minutes. Then he tore out the pages addressed to people who were still alive, went to the porthole, and dropped the book into the ocean.

* * *

Finale/Epilogue to follow.

Thanks for the (so detailed!) feedback, everyone.


	7. Epilogue

Forty-five years after.

* * *

Hikari hobbled along the path, child at her side. The two of them made an odd pair - the serene little old maid who breathed in the beauty of their surroundings, humming some tune or other, and the sullen and silent child who didn't even look up from her 'phone.

It was a beautiful day. The sea-air was fresh and clean. Kaede was clearly bored out of her tiny little mind, but Hikari did her best not to notice. On a whim, she reached up - kids were so _big_ these days - and ruffled the kid's hair, and Kaede leaned away from her. Hikari grinned.

Eventually they reached the Yacht Club, and she checked her watch. Two o'clock. They still had half an hour before they stopped serving lunch. Steak was on special today - half price. It still wasn't cheap, but she'd be damned if a few lousy dollars were going to keep her from doting on her progeny. Though she'd never said as much, maintaining the means to do so was a big part of why she was still teaching despite her so-called 'retirement'.

But first, she brought them to the little monument.

Kaede looked up, disinterested. The whole thing was just a man and a weird-looking machine. The man wore a funny costume.

"His clothes are weird."

She smiled.

"Grandma wore those too, you know."

She actually managed to capture her interest for a moment. "When battling monsters with her friends," she said.

The way she said it was very different to how she usually did. Grandma was an amazing musician and story-teller, everyone said so - especially her students' parents. But this time... there were no theatrics. There was no excitement, no glint in her eye, no emphasis. It had just been a statement.

She had no idea what to make of that.

"Come, little one. A little meat will do you a lot of good," she said, feeling like a spokesperson for one of those adverts that had appeared, oh... a decade or two ago?

Kaede stole a glance at the plaque.

_For all who died in The Great War._

_Die Wunder, activated 15th July 2031._

_Captain Shinji Ikari of Unit One. Killed in action 21st June 2031_

* * *

He awoke, alone - in a box. Machinery sounded all around him.

He went back to sleep.

In time a cool, bony hand caressed his face. He opened his eyes.

"Ritsuko?"

She sighed. "You haven't aged a day..."

* * *

Thank you all.

Incidentally, some might call my spartan writing-style an artistic choice.

Real reason: _I'm lazy._

_DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO_

...good reviewers are hard to come by, so thank you all. And thanks again.


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